Things Change and Get Strange (It's Happening Right Now to You)
by OverlyDramatic
Summary: And it goes like this: Brienne wants to play hockey, Cersei wants to plot, Sansa wants to be popular, and everyone's mother keeps getting involved. Jaime just wants to troll people, and maybe flirt with Brienne when things get boring. (West Eros High Universe)
1. things change and get strange

This is the start of a multi-chapter fic set in my West Eros High verse. It's a companion piece to "Giggling Again for No Reason (Everybody Talks Too Much)" and "i carry your heart with me (straight to the penalty box)." So go read those first. ;D

No seriously, it probably wouldn't be too difficult to pick up the universe starting here. But, of course, you'd have a much better grasp of these versions of the characters & how they relate to each other if you've done your homework. The choice is yours.

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but they are oh so fun to play with.**

**_XxXxXxX_**

Head down, eyes on her books. That was the strategy that Brienne had clung to for more years than she could remember. It had gotten her through grade school, through junior high, and through a year and a half at West Eros High.

Today it was failing her.

"Great hair, Brienne," Tae cackled at her, breezing by as Brienne tried to slink into Health. "The dead straw look is in this year."

WEH's elite had been insulting her with compliments all week. Tae was less subtle about it than the others, and Brienne wished she could be grateful for the transparency, but the attack had caught her off guard and she was busy not stumbling over a carelessly abandoned backpack.

Jaime had warned her about Cersei.

The knowledge was a small consolation.

Brienne slid into her seat, 3rd from the back, and dutifully pulled out her text and notebook. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that mindless note taking did wonders for blocking out snickers. No matter how bad she was at the subject at hand.

Loras frowned at her.

"What did you do to piss off Queen Cersei?"

He shared her third period, and they were far enough past the tense 'you spent a year crushing on my boyfriend' phase to count each other as friends. Brienne figured it had something to do with the fact that, despite her distinct lack of curves, her chances with Renly were roughly equal to her chances of winning prom queen.

Brienne winced at him.

She and Loras were cool now, sort of, but '_have a crush on her stepbrother'_ was not an answer she was comfortable sharing.

"There was this sleepover . . ." she hedged.

Loras raised an eyebrow and checked his mental social calendar.

"That you planned the same night as the cheerleader soiree?"

Unwritten rule #4: mess with a cheer event and your social life was forfeit. Loras may as well have tacked, "are you an idiot?" onto the end of his question.

She should probably shut up, shrug, and let him make of that what he may. But Brienne was caught up in an overwhelming (and somewhat depressing) surge of gratitude that Loras thought she _could_ plan a sleepover.

"Um, it was the cheerleader soiree," she admitted, feeling like she owed him for thinking so highly of her.

Loras snorted, and then, when it became clear Brienne had not become magically funny overnight, gaped at her.

"How the hell did you manage to crash that?" And then, just so she didn't have to imagine it, "Are you insane? No wonder Cersei's glaring daggers at you."

"Sansa's mom tricked me," Brienne defended weakly.

She felt a little guilty blaming Mrs. Stark when the woman had been nothing but nice to the large, awkward girl from her daughter's hockey team. But it wasn't like Brienne had wanted to be there.

Loras snickered, which irritated her. He was gorgeous _and_ athletic, and dating Renly besides. What did he know about being unattractive and socially inept?

"Shut up," she muttered, flipping open her Health book and pretending to read yesterday's lesson. Pycelle always seemed to get off on Sex Ed discussions when he was lecturing. "Those girls are more vicious than The Bloody Marys."

The Bloody Marys were from Saint Mary's, the Catholic school on the other side of town. A decades-long reputation for wicked fouls and constant bloodshed made the team's nickname more recognizable than the school they played for.

"Those guys don't scare me," Loras postured. Brienne snorted, and he amended, "But they're a hell of a lot scarier than _cheerleaders_."

_Let's bring Cersei to the game next week_, Brienne didn't say. _Ten bucks says she sends the captain home crying._

"Did they make-up you to death?" he teased, smiling lightly.

"Gossip me to death, it's more like."

Nervous energy was making her tap her pencil against the desk. She forced herself to quit, and the room felt oddly tense in the absence of the dull rhythm.

"I'm sure you heard more than any normal person could stomach about Bob and Queen Cersei." He disappeared behind his eyes, and when he returned he shivered. "Renly's brother overshares when he's drunk. Which is all the time."

Brienne didn't respond, just went back to tapping her pencil.

"Did Mar stop playing coy about her love life?" he switched tacts.

Brienne didn't pride herself on social aptitude, but even she could see he was fishing for information.

The Tyrells were close, a nuclear family with none of the tensions of families like the Lannisters. But Loras and Margaery were forever locked in friendly competition, and lately Margaery had the upper hand.

"Margaery was nice," Brienne answered noncommittally.

"And, what? Now you're in and Cersei's feeling threatened?" Loras sounded half skeptical, half amused. "Her eyelashes are insured as a source of income and you mentor Pee Wee Hockey dropouts for fun."

"Pod's getting good," she told him.

"Missing the point," Loras pointed out.

"The point is she was miserable," Renly's voice drifted across the room.

Brienne started. She looked up in time to see him slide onto Loras' desk, slinging an arm around the back of his chair to prop himself up.

Loras looked instantly brighter.

Brienne felt a pang somewhere near her heart.

She was over the Renly thing, really. Ten minutes of listening to Loras talk about his "sun in a world of candles" and Brienne knew it wasn't Renly she loved, just a moment of kindness.

Still, it must be nice.

"What's up?" Loras wondered.

Brienne was curious, too. Renly had Art Theory 3rd period, clear across the quad. Health Sciences was about as far from his corner of the morning as you could get.

"Pycelle's out sick," he shrugged around his boyfriend. "And I had a work period."

Loras sniggered.

The last time Renly let slip that art classes allowed work periods, his dad had pulled him out of school for a weeklong hunting expedition with his brothers. Renly had quoted phrases like, "not teaching you shit" and "manning up" for days.

Apparently his family was still pissed that he dropped football.

"So you're stealing us away?"

Renly's eyes skated over Brienne and back to Loras. His expression flickered for half a second.

"Car's by the quad."

"Cool."

Loras turned to her, but Brienne was already shaking her head.

"I've got Shakespeare," she fibbed. "You two go ahead."

Loras shrugged and stood, sliding his books into his open messenger bag and swinging it over his head.

"See you at practice."

Brienne wished she were still oblivious enough that she didn't have to overlook Renly's relieved smile.

"Bye, guys," she said, but they were already gone.

Well, _Twelfth Night_ was forever relevant as far as Brienne was concerned. She may as well lose herself in the version that ended in eternal bliss.

She had career guidance 4th period, so she ended up reading straight through lunch. By the time 5th rolled around, Maria was deep into her scheme against Malvolio, and Brienne was pining for hockey practice. She tanked a pop quiz in Pre-Calc and spent most of World Civ watching snow flurries drift across the parking lot.

_Looks like I'm failing _that_ quiz, too_, Brienne thought, stuffing her untouched notebook back in her locker after the final bell.

She promised herself she'd study an extra hour tomorrow night. She wasn't in danger of flunking off the team, but she couldn't stand disappointing her dad by tanking a test. He tried his best to support her extracurriculars, and if she couldn't be the well-rounded daughter he deserved, she could at least keep her grades up.

"Well look at you," the voice was like wind chimes above the cacophony of the hallway.

Brienne felt a stab of horror, and all but buried herself in her locker.

Cersei would have none of it, though. She pulled the door flush against the locker beside it and looked Brienne down and up, up, up.

Behind her, a handful of pretty girls watched the spectacle unfold.

"Don't you look special." Cersei's smile might as well have been painted on. "That is such an _inventive_ wash on your jeans."

Resigned, Brienne looked down, categorizing her appearance: jeans half worn through, graying Keds, a plain blue sweater that was nicer than normal. She had pulled her hair into a quick ponytail before curling up with her Shakespeare anthology, and she prayed Tae hadn't noticed.

"Cute shoes," said a short girl Brienne didn't know. "I didn't know they stressed sneakers."

"Nice sweater."

Brienne hadn't seen Sansa between the girls flanking Cersei. The redhead hung back, casting around for some insight into her friends' game, but seemed to come up empty.

"Blue suits you," she offered, sounding hesitant.

Brienne wanted to sink into the floor.

Cersei gave the freshman an appreciative nod, eyes gleeful.

"I think we can all agree that Brienne is a _rare_ sort of beauty."

She glanced away, intent on something Brienne couldn't see, and when she refocused she was smiling wickedly.

"Doesn't Brienne look nice today, Jaime?"

Brienne felt hot all over. She staunchly refused to turn and give him the opportunity to add to her humiliation.

He came up beside them, barely glancing at Brienne before telling Cersei, "She wears casual better than you do."

Brienne bit her tongue to keep herself in check. Cersei Lannister would be a goddess in a sack. It was cruel of him to point it out.

"I'd _love_ to see her in a dress," Cersei said.

The other girls giggled, and Brienne felt like a freak on parade.

"What do you want?" Brienne muttered at Jaime. He was the only one she felt safe enough addressing.

"Yes, Jaime." Cersei looked from her stepbrother to Brienne, arched a brow suggestively, and refocused on Jaime. "What do you _want?_"

"A ride," he answered, leaning against the lockers between Brienne and her tormenters. "You've got my keys."

"We're shopping," Cersei informed him. "But if you ask nicely, I'd consider-"

He cut her off.

"I was talking to Brienne."

The look on Cersei's face was almost enough to ease the sting of the joke. She looked like she'd swallowed a mouthful of sour grapes.

"I don't have time for you," she announced, and Brienne didn't know which of them she was talking to.

Cersei glowered as she swept away, the other girls trailing after like they had strings around them.

Jaime rolled his eyes after her.

"I must've been high," she thought she heard him mutter.

Brienne shuffled her feet for half a second before deciding a quick exit was her best strategy. She closed her locker with a resounding _clang_, and Jaime glanced at her as though he'd forgotten she was there.

She was used to it.

"Ego still intact?"

His voice was flippant, but the restlessness in his green eyes made him look almost uncomfortable. Brienne wondered how much of his time was spent apologizing for his stepsister's behavior. Then she wondered how much of his time was spent apologizing for _his own_ behavior.

"Ego?" she joked weakly, and he smiled away whatever discomfort was between them.

Brienne slung her backpack onto one shoulder, and Jaime pushed himself off the lockers.

"So are you going to surrender the keys, or will I have to fight for them? You drive like an old lady, and I don't particularly want to skate suicides today."

He started walking toward the lower lot, where her Camry was parked in its usual spot.

Brienne hastened to match his stride.

"You were serious?" she asked, choosing to ignore the snide comment about her healthy respect for traffic laws.

Jaime smirked at her.

"What, can't stand my presence for ten minutes? Afraid my dashing good looks will enchant you into spilling all your secrets?"

Brienne felt herself go red to her roots. Partly because she _was_ worried about spending ten minutes alone with him, and partly because said secrets were _about_ him.

Jaime laughed.

"I told Cersei I was hitching with you. You wouldn't make me a liar, would you?"

He turned his eyes on her, big and green and sparkling with feigned innocence.

"Would that make the first one today?" Brienne muttered, "Or just the first after the bell?"

Jaime smiled at her and bumped her shoulder. Her stomach lurched, and breathing suddenly took a great deal of concentration. She bit her lip, ordering herself to stop overreacting. She was about to make an idiot of herself, and she'd already done that twice today. Besides, Jaime was - gone.

She cast about for several long seconds before her eyes found Jaime. He was striding ahead of her, twirling her keys around one finger.

Brienne glanced down at the backpack hanging from her shoulder. The side zipper she diligently checked and rechecked was gaping, only half done.

"That's pick pocketing!" she objected, chasing after him.

But Jaime was remarkably obstinate, and Brienne was less difficult when she felt embarrassed, and so she ended up sitting passenger in her own car, wincing as Jaime paid half a mind to cars and stoplights alike.

There was an awkward moment when he reached for the radio and, terrified by the prospect of him recognizing the sap in her cd player, she grabbed his hand without thinking.

"Music breaks my concentration," she stammered, dropping his fingers before he could realize how sweaty her palms had become. "Y'know, before practice."

Which, of course, led to 7 minutes of Jaime serenading her with everything from Rihanna to Frank Sinatra, while Brienne hunched down in her seat, grinding her teeth to keep from smacking him.

"Next time you'll be singing along," Jaime threatened as he pulled into a space and tossed back her keys.

Brienne climbed out of the car and slammed the door, which only seemed to amuse him more.

"Next time we're listening to Gospel choir," Brienne told him, completely serious. The words to S&M were still burning in her ears. Jaime Lannister singing lyrics like "make my body say _ah_" should be a sin.

She heard her name echo off the parked cars and turned to see Loras jogging up. The look on his face promised retribution if she didn't explain 5 seconds ago.

"What's up with you and Lannisters today?" he asked, more bluntly than seemed fair.

Brienne chewed her lip, at a loss.

"Cersei's in a mood and I needed a ride," Jaime piped up.

Loras crossed his arms, unconvinced.

"Some of us actually care about showing up for practice," Jaime continued, voice dropping dangerously.

Loras flared up before Brienne could blink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, edging forward.

"If you want someone at your beck and call, jump back in Renly's Beamer. Otherwise, I expect you to be here."

"If you think this team can survive The Bloody Marys without me-"

"I'll _feed_ you to The Bloody Marys."

"You'd make a hell of an appetizer."

Brienne realized she'd been inching away and forced her feet forward. She wasn't sure if Jaime or Loras was more reasonable right now, but her chances of talking either down from a testosterone trip seemed pretty slim.

She tried anyway.

"Guys-"

"You're lucky Brienne can swing a stick, or I'd have shoved mine up your ass and had you out for the season."

Loras tensed, and suddenly Brienne felt very, very out of place.

"You and your sister stay the fuck away from her."

Brienne almost dropped her bag.

"Loras!"

"Because clearly you have her best interests at heart."

"Jaime-" she protested, taken aback by the gravity in his words.

Whatever he was insinuating, Loras didn't like it. This time, his step forward wasn't threatening; it was full of intent.

"That's enough," Brienne decided firmly, muscling between them and pulling Loras back. "Whatever this is about, it's your job," she glared at Jaime, "to think about the team."

Jaime pretended he hadn't heard.

Loras seemed to be contemplating the effectiveness of a left hook.

"Hey meatheads!" Arya shouted at them.

Brienne was the only one to glance at her, and she could practically feel the younger girl roll her eyes.

"Are you gonna stand around the parking lot like morons, or are you gonna show me the drills I missed last week?"

Arya was forever getting grounded and missing practice. It drove the team half crazy, but she wasn't the only middle schooler playing up for nothing.

Loras and Jaime spent another moment glowering at each other, and then Loras shook Brienne's hand off his arm and headed toward the arena.

"Chop, chop," Arya clapped her hands at her team captain, then shooed him after Loras' retreating figure.

Brienne expected Jaime to go off again, but he just frowned before following Arya to the rink, muttering about "upstart pretty boys with no respect for authority."

Brienne hung back, letting them get a head start. She didn't want to end up in the middle of _that_ again.

"Brienne, dear!"

Brienne jumped, half expecting a cheerleader to jump from the bushes. It was only Arya's mom, though, waving her over from her idling minivan.

She made her way to Mrs. Stark slowly, trying to ease her trembling fingers. That weirdness with the boys had kind of frazzled her. Whatever was up with them, it had felt strangely like watching the brother she never had scare off the boyfriend she never would.

"Hey, Mrs. Stark," she tried to smile, but her mouth only twitched feebly.

"Brienne, how are you?"

The cool thing about Arya's mom was that when she asked questions like that, you could tell she actually wanted to know.

_Weird,_ she almost said. _On edge. Baffled by the male psyche._

"Fine. What's up?"

"Well, dear," she began slowly, and Brienne knew just like that something terrible was about to happen. "Last night Cersei came to Joanna with an unlikely request."

If Brienne were prone to strong language, or remotely capable of stringing words together under pressure, she was sure she'd be cursing eloquently right now. As it was, she was left staring dumbly at Catelyn Stark.

"It seems you've never been invited to join cotillion. Of course, Cersei was a deb years ago, and Sansa's still a year away, but your friend Margaery will be there, and she's convinced - oh, that astrology girl - Mellie to come, too." She paused to smile at Brienne, "And some of the girls thought you might like to be included."

"C-cotillion?"

Brienne could hear Cersei jeering in her head.

"_I would _love_ to see her in a dress."_

"Jo and I think it's a wonderful idea," Mrs. Stark encouraged. But she must have read the total panic on Brienne's face, because she added gently, "It's completely up to you."

"That's – I mean - not really my thing," Brienne managed.

Mrs. Stark nodded.

"It sounds daunting," she agreed. "And goodness knows I'll never get Arya to go. But you learn a lot about yourself, gain some life experience. And it looks good on college applications."

"I've got hockey," Brienne reminded her. "And football, in the fall."

"It'll be over by May," Mrs. Stark prodded. "And there's nothing that says you can't do both."

She hesitated, then looked at Brienne the way Brienne imagined a concerned mother would look at her daughter.

"I think it would be nice for you to make some new friends."

She reached through the window and patted Brienne's arm.

"I've left the information with your father. Just think about it, dear."

Somewhere inside the rink, Coach Selmy's whistle echoed across the ice. Brienne stood unmoving in the parking lot, watching the Stark's silver minivan disappear into the distance.

Cotillion.

She felt like she'd been duped by the universe.

_**XxXxXxX**_

Thanks for reading, everybody! Please take a few moments to leave a thoughtful review, whether you loved it or hated it!


	2. bury our defeat (winter comes too soon)

Thank you so much for everyone who left feedback! I can't tell you what your words mean to me. I hope you continue to enjoy this series, because I'm just getting started. ;)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Brienne, Jaime, or any other characters contained herein.**

**XxXxXxX**

It took Brienne's dad 6 days to break down and bring up cotillion.

She was beginning to think that he had realized it was a disaster in the making and decided to drop the issue. But her dad was forever worry about her best interests, and she knew this was just the sort of thing he'd decide she was missing out on.

"I know you love hockey, honey," he said, setting aside the book he'd been pretending to read while he waited. "And you're good at it. But don't you think it's time to introduce some variety to your extracurriculars?"

"Variety" had been his word of choice since she'd hit puberty. It was his dad way of saying "culture," "femininity," and "social grace."

"I could take up baking," she bargained, riffling through the cupboard for a granola bar.

"Baking is a solitary endeavor," he said, sitting at the counter and leafing through the pamphlets Mrs. Stark had given him. "Cotillion sounds like an opportunity to get out there and meet other girls your age."

"I already _know_ girls my age."

How could she tell him that was the problem?

"I know it's out of your comfort zone," he ceded as his daughter slid onto the barstool beside him. "But people aren't always as bad as you think."

_No, sometimes they're worse._

It was an uncharitable thought, but she couldn't quite convince herself it wasn't true.

Her dad was eyeing her with concern, clutching his forgotten book, and she could see frustration in the furrow of his salt-and-pepper brow.

_Why can't you try?_ it seemed to say.

_I did,_ she wanted to say back.

But she hadn't told him about Red Ron and the cruel farce of a first date. She hadn't told him about the bet, how guys had written sonnets and given her chocolates and Kyle Hunt had laughed, "'no' in chick means 'keep trying.'" She hadn't told him that her night at the Starks had started in Sansa's room, not Arya's.

She loved her dad, she really did. She couldn't do that to him.

"Those girls don't want me there," she admitted, staring down at her hands. They dwarfed the health bar she was clutching. She bet Cersei's wouldn't. "They've already got their own thing."

But if social politics baffled her, no one could argue she didn't come by it naturally.

"Joanna Lannister told me her stepdaughter made a point to invite you. Honey, people can't surprise you if you don't give them a chance."

"I guess," she mumbled, fiddling with her wrapper.

"It's not enough to be part of the team, Brienne," her dad told her softly.

The concern in his eyes was getting to her. It always did.

"I'm fine," she said firmly, tearing open her food and filling her mouth.

"I don't want 'fine,'" he grumbled. "I want 'happy.'"

"Hockey makes me happy."

"Until the game ends," he reminded her.

_And you're alone_, he didn't have to say.

Quiet nights with her dad and her books couldn't always be enough.

She chewed, sorting her thoughts, but there were no easy words for what she was feeling.

"Cotillion won't make me happy," she said finally.

He stared at her, as if he could give her the perfect life through sheer force of will.

"It could be a start," he murmured, and Brienne knew he wouldn't push anymore.

But she could never bear to make her dad unhappy.

She sighed.

"Could you call Mrs. Stark for me? I'm gonna be late for warm-ups."

Her dad's small smile was a mere quirk of his lips, there and gone again, but his eyes were warm as he brushed her cheek.

"New adventures," he declared.

Brienne smiled into his hand, and the rush of affection she felt for him was almost enough to counter the fear that had rooted in the pit of her stomach.

"New adventures," she whispered.

_And a good game to dull the pain_.

_This is where I belong._

Brienne clutched her stick, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bench and waiting for the next line change. Her eyes kept flicking back to The Bloody Marys' box, where their captain, Victor Hoat, was practically snarling.

_Keep clear tonight_, she assessed in half a heartbeat.

Hoat wasn't strong, or fast, or even all that skilled with maneuvers. But he was strategic and unpredictable, with a streak as spiteful as the rest of them. And right now he was _very_ pissed off.

WEH had just scored again. Saint Mary's was down 2-1.

"First line," Coach Selmy ordered as the second line veered toward the box.

Brienne was already standing. She followed Jaime onto the ice, Loras shadowing her, and the three burst toward separate grids on the offensive end, their defenders trailing behind.

The Bloody Marys' first line was a ragtag group of players who shouldn't have been able to coordinate enough to play together, but somehow they did. The defensemen were Gorge and Biter, both slow but nearly impossible to overcome once they were on you. Biter had earned his nickname in a game against Pentos High her freshman year; he'd bitten a chunk from a left wing's fist during a fight, and tried again on their center.

Their front line was almost as bad: A winger nicknamed Fat Z who was solid enough to play defense, but brash enough to play offense; Tim, who could hook and spear a player right under a ref's nose; and Victor Hoat, the team captain, who gave their coach, Ruthless Roose, a run for his money.

Brienne quickly evaluated their positions, noting the puck, the play, and where Jaime and Loras had settled on the ice.

They slipped into play almost as one.

Down and back, down and back, and then West Eros High gained the advantage.

It could have been staged for a movie. The puck practically floated to her, and she trundled around Biter and Hoat and passed the puck to Loras, who evaded Gorge by skating circles around him. He made to pass back to Brienne, and the Marys took the bait. Jaime was wide open when Loras flicked him the puck and swung around to block Tim from following.

The defenders were on him, but Jaime slipped around them, maneuvering his skates with effortless grace, to slip the puck between the goalposts.

3-1.

Hoat slapped the ice in frustration, and Jaime saluted him with a cheeky smile.

Brienne wanted to laugh. Jaime caught her eye and winked, and a smile crept onto her face despite her best efforts.

She circled behind the net as Loras and Jaime skated back toward the bench, letting them pass into neutral ice before moving to follow. The sight of two Bloody Marys slowed her skates.

Hoat was nodding at Fat Z, and the sinister intent in his eyes raised hair down the back of her neck. They moved toward their own gate, Hoat hanging back while Z edged left, skating slow. He seemed off somehow.

Brienne skated forward, shifting towards them as a precaution.

The heavyset forward veered sharply right, across the ice before she could so much as blink. Brienne felt a surge of protectiveness as she darted forward to stop him.

"Jaime!" she warned, too late.

Jaime half-turned and Z slammed into him, knocking his head into the glass and ducking back, letting him lose control of his skates.

Jaime fell hard and lay sprawled on the ice, dazed.

Brienne checked Z so hard he rebounded off the boards, but he caught her arm and held tight, and she had to struggle to keep them both upright.

Hoat was there then, grabbing Brienne from behind. She was stronger than he was, but he had a better angle, and suddenly one of their defenders was binding her between them. She struggled uselessly, preoccupied and anxious, as Z skated back to Jaime and stared down at him.

Jaime was shaking his head, shifting on the ice, testing his limbs. There was a trickle of blood inching down his forehead.

Brienne tried to force her way to him, but Hoat had her left arm twisted behind her, and the right side of her body was pinned. She checked him with her hip, and the defender caught her hard in the mouth with his fist. She spat blood at him. It hit square across his cheek, and he backhanded hers. Her nose didn't break, but blood leaked from the impact; it dribbled down her chin and spattered on the ice.

Then the refs were there, shouting at the Bloody Marys, pulling them off her.

_Not them,_ she wanted to say. _Get _him_._

Z wasn't fighting, but Brienne knew with a certainty that he was the only threat.

When they wrestled Hoat away from her he looked angry, not defeated. His eyes were on Jaime; something dark bubbled in the twist of his mouth.

Z moved so quickly, Brienne barely saw his skate. There was no time for Jaime to react as the blade sliced the padding on his outstretched arm, pressing all of Fat Z's weight onto the exposed limb.

There was barely time for his scream, low and strangled.

She heard a sharp crack, and for one silly moment, she thought Jaime's stick was caught under him. But his arm was bent and his stick was not, and Jaime's face was contorted in a grimace that made her want to cry.

_Stupid_, she berated herself, shoving away the childish urge.

Crying wouldn't mend his arm, and it wouldn't payback the monsters who had broken it.

She lashed out, pushing past the referees as they rushed toward her teammate and attacking Victor Hoat with every ounce of the rage and horror twisting her insides to daggers.

The rink had erupted in chaos. She saw Loras from the corner of her eye, tearing into one of their defenders. Sandor had escaped the box; he was laying about their 2nd line with animalistic fervor.

She managed to rip off Hoat's helmet, and he howled as it snagged his ear, leaving a bloody streak down the side of his face. He caught the front of her jersey and yanked as if he meant to rip it off her, but she used his weight against him and elbowed him hard in the mouth.

"Bithch," he snarled around a mouthful of blood.

She growled and lunged at him.

"Enough!"

She dimly recognized Coach Selmy's authoritative tone, but it wasn't until her skates left the ice that she realized he was yelling at _her_. Brienne was strong, stronger than half the guys in the league, but the arms wrapped around her had her immobilized.

_Traitor_, she thought unfairly as Coach Selmy shot her a hard look and strode across the ice to Jaime's stretcher.

Jaime's helmet was gone, and as they hauled him into the air his head twisted sharply in her direction, braced against the pain. A bloody, sweaty lock of hair drooped across his forehead. It was so grimy she could barely tell it was blonde.

Jaime seemed suddenly powerless in a way that Brienne had difficulty comprehending.

Shame flooded her, and crushing worry. She watched anxiously as they carried him from the ice. They disappeared behind a support beam, and when the stretcher emerged from the other side Jaime's stepbrother was gripping tightly to the edge of it. Her eyes latched back onto Jaime, and she didn't blink until the heavy arena doors echoed closed above the dull roar of the crowd.

Gregor had eased her back onto the ice when she'd stopped struggling, but Brienne felt too tired to move. She stood there in the middle of the rink, watching players and officials alike trudging back to their positions.

Words like "laceration" and "shattered bone" drifted over the speakers, with a string of numbers she couldn't quite grasp. Brienne felt numb as they announced a resume in play.

Coach was back, quietly assessing the disarray of her uniform, the bruise forming on her jaw, her bloodied lip.

"Back in the box, Brienne," he said gruffly.

Loras nudged her forward, and Brienne passed behind the glass and dropped onto the bench next to her teammates. By the time the puck dropped, she had reached a conviction.

_They _will not_ score again._

They didn't.

All their underhanded plays and brutal fouls made no difference. Coach Selmy was stonefaced, Arya fierce over missing the action, and the Cleganes were beasts no matter what the provocation.

But Brienne was impenetrable.

By the final buzzer, every player on the Marys' bench knew the exact second Z lost them the game.

Brienne trailed Arya to the women's locker room, feeling vindicated.

It was a hollow victory, all the same.

She took her time undressing, dabbing antiseptic onto her injuries, letting the lukewarm shower rinse away sweat and blood and lingering resentment. Arya was long gone by the time she pulled her fading WEH hockey sweatshirt over her wet, frizzing hair and stuffed her gear into her bag.

She hoped to find a nearly empty arena, but crowds had lingered, caught up in the fervent school pride that could only come from an injury during the game.

Brienne ducked her head and tried to make herself small.

Cersei was standing alone by a pillar, eying the players with disgust. When Brienne trudged past her expression turned positively baleful. Her lip curled, and the stare she fixed on Brienne was enough to make her chest tight and her throat dry. She clutched her bag until the strap cut into her palm, looking anywhere but at the beautiful blonde and the accusation in her cool green eyes.

As Brienne's eyes darted around the arena, they came to rest on a familiar form. Her breath caught and her shoulders braced without her permission.

She hadn't known her dad was coming—he hardly ever made it to her games—but she could only imagine what he thought of her after tonight's display. This would be fodder for weeks worth of concerned discussions.

"Need a ride?"

Loras came up beside her, effortlessly slipping into the role of white knight.

_Yes_.

"I, um – " Brienne swallowed hard, forced out the word, " – no. I should probably ride with my dad."

Loras shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Brie. Stop being a martyr."

"It's fine," she insisted, biting her lip when her dad noticed her watching. He frowned, small and dissatisfied, and her heart clenched.

"We won't take no for an answer," Margaery announced, slipping up beside her brother and threading her arm through his. She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips.

Brienne turned to look, but Margaery tugged Loras forward, and Brienne had to maneuver her gear to avoid clocking them.

"You won us the game."

Brienne shuffled backwards, creating distance between her pounding pulse and Margaery's earnest lie. This misdirected praise was making her feel kind of sick.

"You deserve a few minutes to bask in it," Margaery insisted.

And she caught Brienne by the arm, too.

Brienne sought out Loras, but he shrugged as if to say, _what can you do?_

"Shouldn't we check in on Jaime?" she protested, adding anxiously, "Has anyone heard from Tyrion?"

She resisted the urge to glance back at Cersei and shiver.

"They're sending out text alerts," Margaery's smile turned sympathetic.

"He'll probably be out for the season," Loras grimaced. "We're totally screwed."

Loras admitting he couldn't singlehandedly win the season was like the Marys' coach raising his voice: completely unheard of.

"What'd you hear?" she blurted.

"Nothing," Margaery soothed.

"_You_ were there," Loras added. "You saw the crazy angle of his arm."

She had. She'd been trying to unsee it ever since.

"Don't dwell," Margaery instructed. "We need to get your mind off it."

The siblings exchanged a look. Brienne didn't even try to decipher it.

"Loras and I were going out," Margaery spoke carefully, eyes still on her brother. "You should come with."

"I can't-" she started, but Loras was already nodding agreement.

"You can't sit at home every night, Brie."

"My dad-"

"Can fuss at you when you get home."

"There's-" she cast about, said weakly, "-cotillion in the morning."

If Margaery was surprised, she didn't show it.

"You may as well get to know the girls you'll be stuck with," she pointed out.

Brienne tried one last time.

"I wouldn't want to impose."

Margaery glossed Brienne's paper-thin excuse.

"I've been missing my dashing brother. And someone needs to help me distract him, or he'll spend all night sulking about Renly missing his game."

She tucked in close to Loras and pecked him affectionately on the cheek.

Brienne could only describe Loras' expression as pouting.

He was supposed to be her teammate, her comrade-in-arms. But apparently all the camaraderie in the world couldn't squeeze between Margaery Tyrell and getting her way.

"We'll stop for milkshakes," Margaery insisted, tugging her brother and his teammate into the brisk January air. "Everyone will be post-gaming at King's Landing."

Margaery slowed, casting a sideways glance at Brienne from beneath her lashes. All the soft beauty in the world couldn't hide the determination sparking in those bright brown eyes.

Brienne's lip was swollen red, her face was purpling in places, and her knuckles were bruised and split, but for half a breath Margaery Tyrell was the most terrifying thing she'd ever seen.

"It would be a shame for us to miss it."

**XxXxXxX**

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